Wesley
“ L uca suggested I frame the Rolling Stone article and put it there. But is that too self-indulgent?” I said, standing across the street from Avery’s hotel, watching her pace through the window to her balcony.
Martin would probably kill me when he found out I flew to Paris instead of some remote off-the-grid mountain. But fuck it. He took away my primary distraction—working on the album—and I needed to see her. Be seen by her.
Fans wearing her merch and paparazzi clustered around the front door. It was a gloomy day, and I’d been shielding myself with a black umbrella.
She stopped in her path, thinking. “You already tried it, didn’t you?”
“Yeah, it didn’t fit the space, left this awkward gap.”
“What else have you looked at?”
“I’ve gone to a few shops in Manhattan but not feeling it. Come out here to help me.”
“I can’t just get on a plane.” She cocked her head. “You’re talking to a girl with a sold out European tour.”
“That’s what I thought you’d say, so I came to you instead.” Her pacing stopped again. I loved seeing the effect I had on her when she wasn’t aware I was watching. “I’m outside.”
Avery came to the balcony, dipping at the waist to look over the edge and survey the crowd. They burst into cheers. “Yeah, so are about a hundred other people. Fighting for my attention.”
“But you like me best and you know it.”
I could tell the moment she spotted me by the sound of her strangled laugh. “Please tell me it’s you across the street and not some other guy dressed like a budget serial killer.”
“Excuse you! Budget? This hoodie was three hundred dollars.”
“Not something to be proud about, Gaflin,” she said, reminding me who I was. Not Wesley Hart. Just some kid from the middle of nowhere Tennessee who listened to music on shitty headphones with his best friend.
“See. That’s why I need your help with decorating.”
“You didn’t need to make up an excuse to see me.”
“It’s not an excuse. I really do need to fill the wall above my mantle. This is serious business.”
“I’m hanging up now,” she chimed, then paused. “There’s an entrance around back. I’ll let security know to let you through.”
Up in her room, the sheets on her hand-carved four poster bed were flung to one side.
I imagined her burrowed under them until I called, that I was the reason she bothered getting up at all.
I was jealous of the half empty water glass resting forgotten on a table, its rim imprinted with old lipstick.
That color would look better on my cheek anyway. Or mouth. I wasn’t picky.
“Give me a minute to throw something on.” She pulled the door between the living area and bedroom mostly closed, leaving it ajar so we could talk.
I was left to continue my exploration, conjuring up her stay in my mind.
I did it often in other places too, even if she’d never been.
It was an exercise of sorts—maybe I was scared of forgetting her intricacies, partly because so much of me only exists because of her. If I forgot her, I’d forget myself.
“I’m not complaining. But I thought Martin would have you locked up, away from cameras and press.”
“What’s one more picture? Obviously, they can’t get enough of me.”
“Are you holding up okay?”
“Why wouldn’t I be? They’re obsessed. It’s good for the band,” I said. It was already done, and there was no need to complain about something I couldn’t fight. Maddie was trying to get my attention, so if I didn’t appear to care, I could pretend I was winning.
“I don’t remember asking about the band.” The door pushed open. Avery had changed into simple jeans and a long sleeve black turtleneck, the new tattoos encircled her wrist just barely peeking out, vines with dainty leaves. She had a thing for floral tattoos these days.
Avoiding the question, I grabbed a stack of glossy photos off the coffee table. Each featured a model wearing an ethereal gossamer gown. “What are these?”
“Nothing.” She plucked them from my hands and tapped them into a stack. Talking to me over her shoulder, she walked to a drawer and shoved them inside. “Just some designs Lydia sent over. The label wants to soften my look. Apparently, I’m ‘bitter and hard to swallow.’”
“Are you considering it at all?” She was always so sure of herself never getting lost in the demands of an industry that was filled with people who tried to change you to serve their purposes. It was reassuring that no matter what happened she’d stay the same.
“As if I’m going to take advice from people who describe me like a one-star restaurant review.” She scoffed, heading to the door and pulling on thick soled combat boots. “Did you want to go decor shopping or what?”
We spent the afternoon in Montmartre, traipsing across the cobbled streets below the endless tourist-packed steps of the Basilique du Sacré-Coeur.
Avery found plenty of treasures in the consignment shops. Simple shirts with impeccably constructed seams. Dresses with unconventional, dramatic silhouettes.
In one such shop, a slice of sunshine breaking through the cloud cover drew my attention to a jewelry case. I didn’t realize I was staring until the middle aged owner unlocked it and placed a ring in front of me. A ruby set in a cluster of diamonds with an engraved gold band.
“A gift for the striking girl with frown lines?” he asked in his flowing accented voice. His eyes went to where Avery was flipping through a rack of trench coats.
“It would be perfect for her,” I said. I’d thought about buying a ring for her before but talked myself out of it. There was a one in a million chance she’d accept it.
But I loved her, and for me, that was always reason enough to do anything. I bought the ring, taking it from the box and sliding it onto the silver chain around my neck, the cool metal quickly warming against my skin.
When Avery was finished, we found a café with tables tilted at angles dictated by the whims of the uneven paving stones. Avery made a show of holding up clothes she’d found so I could send pictures to Mom.
“You know, the last time I was here was with my dad. Not just Paris, but here in front of Sacré-Coeur,” she said.
Her expression glazed with emotion as she pinched the minuscule handle of her espresso cup, and she raised it to her lips.
“He didn’t let me get any coffee because I was ten, but I tried sneaking it and gagged at the taste, so he caught me. ”
“What was he writing then?” I asked. It was rare for her to talk about her dad. Mom sometimes spoke about him as if he was just down the street. But Avery never gave herself time to remember, working herself to the bone.
“A southern gothic thriller inspired by The Hunchback of Notre Dame. He met with some scholars for research.” Her voice was airy and wistful with memories. “It’s nice, though, how it hasn’t changed.”
“It’s the same with Caper. You could come back and see for yourself,” I hedged. “Mom is hoping you’ll come home for the holidays soon.”
“That’s sweet of her, but I’m booked through January for parades and TV specials. I’ll call, though.” She shook her head, eyes clearing as she gave the same response she has for years.
A squeal of delight erupted from behind us, and I swiveled to find two girls around our age shushing each other as they slowly stepped closer. I pressed a finger to my lips and winked at them, knowing they recognized us. They took it as permission to close the gap.
“Shit,” Avery muttered. Her bodyguard bristled but she mouthed something to him and he stayed put.
I smiled at the girls, knowing it would be over soon enough. “Hey, ladies. Was there something you wanted to ask me?”
Avery whispered, “Don’t encourage them.”
“Which rumor is true? Or were you with all those girls?” one asked.
They both eyed me with hope. They wanted me to say yes, so I might say yes to them too.
Their gazes spoke of words muttered behind my back, exchanged between curious friends.
They wanted to know my body the same way others did, not wanting to be left out.
To be elevated because of it, not even knowing what they took from me.
Avery snorted as she took another sip.
With shaky hands, I took my cup as it clattered against the saucer. It was a sloppy feeling, keeping my composure because it was easier than breaking. “Sorry, ladies, but I don’t kiss and tell. I leave that for the tabloids.”
“We can keep a secret,” the second girl said, taking another step closer.
“It’s none of your business,” Avery snapped. “We’re obviously in the middle of something.”
“We weren’t talking to you,” the first girl said.
Avery leveled a glare at them. “And we didn’t invite you over.”
“ Connasse ,” one of them huffed under her breath as they hurried away.
“It’s fine. I don’t mind,” I told Avery, finishing off my latte as foam clung to the bottom of the cup.
“I do. I mind how people talk about you and how you talk about yourself. You’re worth more than a picture.”
“I mean, look at me.” I flashed a smile and swept a hand over my body. “Who wouldn’t want to get their hands on this?”
“Stop it.” Her jaw ticked as she gritted her teeth. “Stop talking about yourself like that.”
“Like what?” It was stupid, but I wanted her to snap. I wanted something raw and real. A pinch that would convince me I wasn’t stuck in some sort of perpetual dream.
“Like you’re some commodity.”
“But isn’t that what we are? They let us pretend we have all this freedom, and then they start reminding us who has the money. If they want us to dance, we dance. Imagine if we’d told Martin no about changing Fool’s Gambit’s sound. I doubt we would be here.”
“You’d be making music you love.”
“Because that pays the bills, right? Oh, I forgot, your team listens to you. They listen to you so well they’ve been pressuring you to be easier to swallow for years.”